The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1887-03-27

ACHILLES III ueF lmdRlHdLlOu 6uu GEO0uSo niiA
with all her love-poor Ariadnel And the next
day she went down to the spring with the eager
expectation of seeing him again. Why should
he not be there that day and the next day, and
the next and smile upon her and talk and then
ride away IS on yesterdays What were long
journeys and absences to her who knew of them
not2
What were time and space to her and to him9
Neither had stood in the way of the Olympian
gods or the heroes, of whom her beloved Herodo-
tus wrote with such fervent, unquestioning
faith. How could it be otherwise with hlms
He might be hero-nay, even god; he would
appear before her when he would. So Ariadne
dreamed on-and reached the spring and found
him not. She waited and he came not-waited
long and drearily. then fell on the ground and
wept
Day after day she came and watched for him
in vain Now she knew for the first the panes
of a gnawing disappointment, and it slowly
came home to her with feeling of passionate
grief, that that which one longs for and loves
may not be had from the mere longing and low
ing She grew to hate the spring, and would go
there notwithstanding tho hope that he
might come another way. She lay in the grassy
pillows on the Giants Head and hoped and
dreamed that he would come to her IN time
across the water.
Some months were gone, and craving for ex-
preston began to grow upon Ariadne. And now
she felt power within which thrilled her with
rapture. body ard soul, although her heart was
sad. She lay on the Giants Head By day, or sat
under the oaks in the yard by night, and spoke
her grief. her thoughts, her hopes, in measured,
flowing accents. 1t was long ere she bethought
herself of writing any of this down. but one
day it came upon her in food of rapture
.ihat she might be poet, as Sappho had been
among the Greeks, and she was lifted high
with enthusiastic hopes. There would be no
lack of inspiration; her mind and heart were
teeming with fances and emotions. She would
write of her Achilles at the spring; his godlike
beauty, his SMILE his words, his Disappearance
snatched away by some malignant power-and
her bitter unavailing grief; of her hopes of his
their life, their heaven. Then. were there not
the innumerable things which the bros and
beasts, the WOODS and waters. the changing skies
and whispering winds. said to her in turn9
But it did not prove so easy, even with her in
ward. enduring power, her matchess fancy and
her freedom from disouieting influences. I'm
happy pitfalls yawu before the poet born who is
not also poet made Her first efforts panied
and maddened her with a sense of her own inn
potence. that she tore the sheets to shreds
while shedding bitter tears. She would try
more; it gave her too much pain and
only marred her poem, her grand, enduring
poem which lived within and moved here in every
nerve and fibre, although she could not put it
forth in written words. But by and by the pen
came into favor again. and at last there a
time when she would allow some portions of her
work to stand, though weeping always with pro-
found despair when she made comparisons with
her poets-anon smiling sadly over itall, humbled
in the realization that her work must fall so far
below her aim.
The girl grew pale and thin and they marked
it with alarm. "Hit's that writin'," declared old
Mrs. Walker. "She's alters at it, day an night.
cepn when she takes notion to traipse roun in
the woods little She don't sleep none hardly,
nohow, an eff hits INCONSISTENCY night she jes
can't stay abed. Eff she hain't up an clean out
an gone, she sets thar in her winder or Greens
about on the piyaza NOSE all night. Hit amt
Gal. Nos Ch0 ~rsn hp
same as other folks. Her brain is added"
One night the woods took fire, and Solomon
Walker fastened down to the vicinity, fearful
lest his fencing would suffer. Ariadne followed,
attracted by the glorious blaze which here and
there ran up the oozing turpentine to the
tops of some of the highest pines. Instructing
her to call him if the fire came too near. Solo.
mon Walker stationed his daughter behind him
and followed the line of fencing further on.
Happily what wind there was did not blow that
way-the real danger was some distance on
for Ariadne soon forgot the fence and lost herself
in watching the dusky curling shapes up among
the smoke-wreathed pine-tree tops and the glow
ing flames beneath.
All alone in the desolate, burning woods, this
| strange girl was yet not as alone she doubt
less would have been in crowd of women and
men. The lone wood teens with voices for hen
ear; everything lives and breathes for her. She
looks on, intent as upon human drama, as the
wide stream of fire burns on its cracking, roar
| ing way. swallowing IN the long, trailing wire
| grass with greed Unsuitable. This way. that way
| she sees the steathly, kissing little fame-fends
run, avoiding the great hurricane roots, afraiC
| to mount them, but closing in, overlapping anG
| trampng upon the mute white logs bedridder
| with old age. and dancing and laughing together
| in derisive JOY On they go-twisting oveaAths
| noble roots and, for very mock bravado, leap
| ing up around and blowing their hot breath
| upon the sides of mighty giant pines. Lo here
10 there! they reach their burning fingers for
| ward through the quiverng grass to scorch with
| Kisses wrstched, toing, creeping things! Ha! ma
| they laugh and shrek IN widest glee and ella,
| their hands in sport internal. as the aroused
| snake tears Kissing from its heated lair. They
| strive and snarl. from greed among themselves
| and stretch and strain with eyes red hot IN
| turned to cloat upon the writhing, smoke stifet
death of winged insects. What care these fam,
| demonsl What know they of paint The wreck
of matter is their carnival. the death of being il
! their birth. their lfe-their short, fierce venge
| full life. And so this living. growing army O
! them is followed by Ariadne's eyes IS it coe
| forward it's triumphant raging way, dom:
! death to all it meets, and leaving naught behint
| but blasted corpses strewed through vistas fa
| and black.
| Scorched by the flames. blackeued with smok
and weary from his long and hard fought colnba
| with the threatening FIRE, Solomon Walker re
turned at last to find his daughter standing where
| he had left her. He broke in upon her dream and
taking her hand as if she had been blind child
led her slowly homeward. 1t was night brill
| liant with moon and stars, and Aradne,
eyes hung rap.urously on thu skies. At the gat
sheloosed herselffr her fathers hand and stoo,
away from him, the stars rained fire in her soul
she was umnated-lifted upon wings. G.
| within the dark house to smother2 Mol Solo
| mon Walker was obliged to cali his mother an,
| together they coaxed her in. and the OLD woman
saw to it that the girl prepared for bed.
Two hours later old Mrs Walker was awak
ened by noises in the "shed roomr whic
Ariadne occupied close to her own. Rising an
! nAaninp thYOrCh COny6nlant RnOt-hO1
| in the dim light of tho sputterin
tallow candle she the girl seate
at her table, pen in hand. Scratch, scratch
scratch-went the pen for a few moments, an
then the burner of the midnight oil threw
hands tensely over her head. Again she tried
and failing. AS it seemed, got up and paced tn
room. uttering desnairing CALCULATIONS inter